


The Barn

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mystery, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ridiculous how many alleged hauntings Ohio has, and after Marybeth, Casey is ready to believe in almost everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prisca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisca/gifts).



 

Casey ducks his head, covers it with his arms, but since he's drenched already, there's not much use. A quick sprint takes the boy to the barn's wooden door. Its faded red paint looks like blood that dried dripping.

Casey would love to snap a picture.

The hinges creak in protest. With a relieved sigh, he slips inside the dusty space. Debris clutters the floor, but it's mostly dry in here, and when Casey inhales deeply, he can still smell animals and hay.

Casey sticks close to the wall in his search for a reasonably comfortable spot. When he comes across a pile of bricks, he sets his backpack down and slips out of his rain jacket. As he climbs onto the pile, he can almost hear Zeke's voice telling him not to go and that the only thing he'd get today would be a cold. He was probably right, but Casey had planned his Abandoned Places Photo Tour for so long that this morning's dreary weather couldn't stop him. It was disappointing that Zeke had decided not to come, but since all begging and pleading (and Bribing By BJ, even) didn't work, Casey had set off on his own.

Now, alone in this rotting place, he wishes he hadn't. To delay his trip for a day wouldn't have been that tragic. It's not like any of the places on his list would magically disappear any time soon. But it is what it is.

Casey tries to get as comfortable as possible, leaning back against the wall and hugging his knees to his chest. Water pools on the floor, and he can't tell if it's because of a leak in the roof or because of his wet clothes.

The rain patters down in a steady rhythm that makes Casey sleepy; it's been a long, cold, day.

When he wakes up, it's dark. He's freezing, and it's still raining, louder now, harder, as if the sky was angry at the age-worn roof and wanted to tear it down.

Casey sneezes. His throat hurts, and so does his head. Moaning, he sits up, stretches his arms and legs tentatively; they're a little stiff. With the End Of World weather out there, he doesn't feel like walking back to his car that's parked about five hundred miles away, which limits his options severely.

“At least it's not a haunted place,” he whispers to himself, although he isn't so sure about that. It's ridiculous how many alleged hauntings Ohio has, and after Marybeth, Casey is ready to believe in almost everything. Every legend contains a core of truth, after all.

He fumbles through his backpack for his camera. What little light still creeps in through the rotting walls sucks, but he might as well make the best of it. If he doesn’t move, he will probably freeze to death. He climbs down the pile on shaky legs. Squinting his eyes for something worth photographing, Casey settles for an empty stall across from him. He snaps a few pictures of the debris and of some torn chain-link fence before it gets boring. None of these photos will develop decently, anyway.

Sighing, Casey puts his camera back.

Somewhere in his backpack should be a flashlight; when he finds it and turns it own, it gives a weak flicker before casting a dying light; it will have to do for exploring the place. Casey remembers seeing a ladder leading to the hayloft upon entering the barn and turns in that direction.

Although he moves his feet with caution, he stumbles more than he walks. Neither the entrance nor the ladder come into view, and while it's only annoying at first—the place must be bigger than he originally thought—it gets frustrating when he rounds another empty stall and stands in front of the bricks again.

Sighing, Casey tries anew, with the same result. He frowns at the outline of his backpack, runs a hand over it as if he can't believe it's there, but since it's damp and stiff under his touch, it must be real.

“What the fuck?”

As if to reply, the flashlight gives a last flicker.

“Yeah. Great.”

At first, he hears nothing but the rain, a constant drumming on the rooftop. Then, something like footsteps mixes in. Casey tenses and looks around seeing nothing. He lets out the breath he held and snickers; no one is here, of course.

But he hears it again, heavy boots, approaching slowly, and he's sure it's not just in his head. Casey retreats as far as he can. The wall against his back is cold, claws at him where the wood has splintered. Suddenly, he recalls the two dozen or so Ohio ghost stories he read over the past few days, and although he's still positive that this very place hadn't shown up in that section of the website, he simply knows.

Casey knows that he's in trouble before he hears a hoarse voice calling out for “his Evelyn.”

And when the footsteps round the corner and stop right before him, he can't do more than stare at the shadowy figure to whom they belong.

“There you are, Evie. Think you can hide?”

Casey shakes his head, whispering, “I'm not—”

“Come on out now. You have a vow to make.”

“I'm not Evie. I'm not—”

“Enough, bitch.”

Casey could swear he hears a gasp from the hayloft above just as the figure reaches out for him.

~ ~ ~

“Fuck, Casey, where were you? I was worried!”

“I got stuck in the rain,” Casey mumbles, slumping against Zeke's chest. “And I had the weirdest, weirdest dream.”

“You okay?”

“I'm okay. You may have been right about catching a cold, though.”

“Let's get you in the hot shower and then bed.”

Casey laughs softly. “What I really need is some food,” he says, “but I'll agree on the shower. My back hurts like a mofo. I guess that's what you get for sleeping on a pile of bricks.” He pecks Zeke on the lips before freeing himself from his hug to kick off his muddy shoes.

“So, weird dreams, huh?”

“Totally. I dreamt that an angry ghost made me marry him. He thought I was his fiancé, or somethin'.”

Zeke snickers. “Is that your way of telling me—”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Casey throws his damp sweater at him. “I'm not gonna get married at nineteen. And even if, I'm not sure you deserve me.”

“But some ghost does?”

“It's not like I had a choice. Anyway—” he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Zeke's jeans, “—care to join me in the shower?”

“Dunno. Would your husband approve?”

Casey frowns. “You know what? Let's not talk about it anymore. It was a creepy dream. That guy . . . let's just say he wasn't exactly nice.”

As Casey turns away, Zeke's reply sticks in his throat.

Scarlet welts cover Casey’s back, running from his shoulder blades to the waistband of his jeans. Hand-shaped bruises frame his hipbones. Zeke blinks slowly, unbelieving, but the sight doesn't change.

“You comin'?”

“I think I'd like to hear more about last night first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Despite the stormy weather Casey is not willing to give up his long-planned photo-trip.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
